The Last Meeting

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A Highland Regiment and Other Poems by Ewart Alan Mackintosh
The Last Meeting

                  
LAST time you met me shadowed white,
  A very queen for stateliness,
And all the jewels of the night
  Were tangled in your ivory dress.
Your eyes were strange, your lovely smile
  As though we never met before —
I saw you such a little while,
  Who shall not see you evermore.


God knows the gates were strong between.
  But still my trumpet might have blown
Had you not looked so great a queen.
  Had I but seen you all alone.
But there we sat the dinner through
  And talked like strangers of the war.
I only spoke an hour with you.
  Who now shall speak with you no more.


Maybe I waited over-long,
  You spoke no word to tell me so.
Perhaps the gates might be too strong
  For any blast that I could blow
Ah well, it hardly matters now,
  My whispering ghost drifts through the rain,
The shroud of death is at my brow,
  I shall not come to you again.

1915